


Love is a promise.

by courierfaith



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on the Blind Betrayal mission, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), But is it really a spoiler if I'm Super vague?, F/M, Fallout 4 Spoilers, Feelings Realization, First work though! Let's go lads, Some Plot, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courierfaith/pseuds/courierfaith
Summary: Autumn, a brutal, heartless season. A time for dying; the withering before death. In the cruellest of months we may long for the end, welcome it with open arms, but sometimes, for the luckiest of people, respite of life may be found in the arms of another.
Relationships: Paladin Danse & Female Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 7





	Love is a promise.

Autumn came as it always did. The herald of winter, ushering in the end; recking nothing of life but of dying rather than death. In these twilight months shade sweeps the landscape. Devouring. Draining. They say death is liberation, that the end brings peace. As oblivion ebbs ever closer, and we writhe beneath a sunless sky, we can only hope that old proverb proves true. For the prospect of death is terrifying in its finality. But nothing pains like hopelessness. Nothing like life makes us grateful for death.

In the deepest depths of a concrete shelter, autumn takes ahold of another.

Revelation gnaws at certainty in identity, a voracious beast. Sepia hues linger on the visage reflected by mirrors sullen; filled with anguish, filled with anger. Simultaneously the monster and the monster hunter, he finds himself the impossible amalgamation of two distinct beings that never should have met. Memory feels like a cruel lie, jabbed in his heart like a thorn, stuck and stinging. How much of him was manufactured? A synthetic body, with a synthetic mind. Pumping crimson coolant, and tearing up kerosene. Was his past a lie? _Had he ever been that young prospector in the Capital Wasteland?_

Vessel rattles as the cataclysm of internal enmity reaches a peak. A shaky breath leaves blush rose lips, and he rises from genuflect, a sinner before the litany of self. Exhaustion has become him. And with it, acceptance is drawn from heart, murmuring a bitter protest. Digits reach for holstered pistol. _No more!_ Synthetic notions of self-preservation are drowned out by repeated doctrine; _I must be the example, not the exception._

Enter, rushing through doorway: Sole. Eyes full of fear. Brows raised in horror. As her gaze settles upon him, features twist with pity. Relief floods cadence, softly she calls out to him. _Danse..._

With his self-exile, he plucked blossoming roses- flourishing fondness- from their stems. An imposter in her heart, _he felt so surely,_ no one should have to love a monster such as him. Yet she does not mourn the loss. Here with him now, as she had been at Cambridge, and all across the Commonwealth, she takes him as he is. And with the devotion of her touch, he realises something. The infinity of her compassion will reach him always; even when he is lost, even when he cannot find a way home. And as she stands in the ruins of who he was, she continues to tend to the garden of adoration like a faithful botanist would her plants following a bout of disease. Understanding and benevolent, she begins quietly cultivating something _wisteria._ Promising eternity, only sweet praises fall from honeysuckle lips. _Whatever the future holds, I'm in this for the long haul._ And he believes her. 

Make no mistake. _Love does not heal wounds._ It does not cease bleeding or ease debilitating pain. But, perhaps, it makes it worth enduring. _Love is a promise._ That no matter how broken, or lost, we become there will always remain someone beside us. Ready to bandage old, weeping wounds, ready to bring us home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first work. I don't get much of an opportunity to write creatively, and haven't done for quite some time, so even though it's quite short, this made for a nice change of pace. I hope you enjoy.


End file.
